Captive Moon

by C. T. Adams

  There was no way to tell, but in freedom there is power. So she lowered her eyes when the cage door was opened and allowed the collar to be placed around her neck. When Antoine pulled on the leash she stepped out of the cage and followed him through the police station. But then she saw the man who had kicked her head through the cage so the other could inject the drug. A snarl rose from her chest without warning. It was met with a sharp tug on the collar and another burst of biting magic.

  Tahira fought down her anger. There was no time. I should be thankful that I’m getting out of this alive so I can find Rabi.

  The guards followed them out to the van with hands on weapons, remaining until the rear doors were safely shut and locked. Tahira took a deep breath. The van was filled with the scent of other cats, large and small, some shapeshifters and some wild cats. But it smelled of comfort and peace, rather than anger or fear. The cats who had passed through this van were content. It was a shock. She’d heard horror stories about the treatment of cats in circuses and shows, and even worse stories about the sadistic Sazi.

  A wave of relief made Tahira sigh as the police station grew smaller in the rear window. She jumped and turned as something lightly struck the back of her head. A cream-colored silken shirt lay at her feet.

  “I’m about to change you back. I thought you might want to cover yourself.”

  She looked up at the sound of his voice and caught sight of his eyes in the rearview mirror. The annoyance in his eyes matched his scent.

  “I’m sorry for snarling back there, but—”

  ANTOINE TURNED ANGRY eyes back to the road. The very American accent in her voice was a worry. “It doesn’t matter why. You nearly ruined your own escape. If you were Sazi, I would be forced to…but no, that doesn’t matter right now.” With a thought, he released the flow of magic, and forcibly ignored the scream of pain as she shifted back to human form. She must be quite young to still scream.

  There was a shuffling of fabric against skin and when he glanced back again, a fully grown, stunning woman was finishing buttoning the silk shirt. It stretched tight over the generous swell of her chest. She tucked slim, permanently tanned legs under her so she could rise to her knees. Thankfully, the shirttail was long enough to cover everything, but Antoine found that he had to force a very appreciative gaze back to his driving. He wished he could ignore her enticing scent as easily.

  He cleared his throat, and fought the customary attraction to a beautiful woman. “I…ahem, I expected you to be…younger, Tahira.”

  She half-crawled to the grating so she could see him as they talked. She dropped to a sitting position next to the grate, feet tight against her thighs. When he glanced in the mirror again, he couldn’t stop his eyes from opening wide at what he saw. Without planning to, he laughed out loud. She was looking down, and her hair spilled over her face and shoulders. Wide portions of her hair were colored the bright russet of her animal.

  “You have…stripes.”

  Tahira looked up with shock on her face and immediately pulled her hair back and tucked it in the neck of her shirt while blushing furiously. Her scent was hot embarrassment and anger, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes in the mirror. “I’ll dye it immediately when we reach a town. I swear. Please don’t look badly on the kabile for my defect.”

  Defect? Why on earth—

  He softened his voice, let the amusement drop from it completely. “I don’t consider them a defect, Tahira. I’ve simply never seen them appear before in human form. They’re really quite lovely—as are you, by the way. Who told you they were a flaw?”

  After a few moments of silence, where her scent was a mingling of emotions that included being worried and flattered, she responded. “Oh. Um…I…thank you. But in our tribe, they’re looked down on as being low-caste—nearly as bad as a sifena, a halfling that must change on each of the three nights of the moon. Anything that would be noticed by townsfolk on casual inspection is a danger. If I lived with my grandparents, I would probably be put down for these stupid orange hairs. But since I turned late in life—I only had my first change at twenty—they’re hoping it will pass. But it’s been two years…. Normally, I dye my hair during the moon. That’s really easy at home in California. It’s harder here in Turkey. I wear a head scarf a lot of the time to cover my hair, even though I’m not Muslim.”

  “What do you mean, Turke—” Antoine saw her face in the mirror and noticed a large bruise that covered one eye and stained her cheekbone an angry red. He turned his head to confirm what he saw and exclaimed, “Merde! What happened to your face?”

  She rose up to look in the mirror, which brought a grimace and a gentle probing with one finger. “It does look bad, doesn’t it? That’s why I snarled at that guard. He kicked me in the face through the cage.”

  Antoine’s hands clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and the plastic creaked in protest. Fury boiled inside him. The thought of someone—“He kicked you? Pauvre con! Why didn’t you tell me at the station? I could easily have ‘discovered’ it when I examined you and had him disciplined.”

  Tahira shrugged and sat down, carefully smoothing the fabric to cover her thighs. “What good would that do? Even if you’d made an accusation, they’d just claim that the men who’d captured me had done it.” She pushed against her ribs and felt an answering twinge of pain. “And they did plenty—you just can’t see the bruises anymore. Besides, I’ll heal.”

  A shadow of a smile passed over his face. Their cultures might be very different, but they were also much alike.

  She sighed and looked out the window through the grating. “I’m just hoping to get back to the village by nightfall. I’m not very good at directing people there when it’s dark. Grammy must be beside herself. I’ve been gone since before dawn.”

  Antoine nodded. Ah, yes. Back to the subject at hand. “Where do you think you are, Tahira? Do you know what day this is?” He asked the words calmly, without any emotion attached, but wasn’t surprised when she regarded him suspiciously.

  “It’s Friday, which—” She wrinkled her brow, and her face in the mirror grew more worried by the second. “…is a holiday in Turkey, and the police station shouldn’t be open. The police weren’t speaking Turkish, either.”

  “No, it wouldn’t, and they weren’t,” Antoine agreed. He decided she needed to figure this out for herself before he intervened.

  She looked out the window as another building flashed by. “Van is the closest city of this size, but the architecture is wrong.”

  A car ahead braked to avoid a small animal and the rear end skidded on the icy road before moving forward again. Antoine took his foot off the gas pedal in response. They slowed several kilometers an hour to a more appropriate speed. Yes, they would both survive an accident, but why risk one?

  He listened to Tahira mumbling under her breath. Her scent was a blend of panic and worry that made him clench his jaw. “Damn! I should have paid more attention in class. Franco? Grecian?”

  “Baroque, mostly,” Antoine offered. “A bit of Bauhaus in a few buildings.” He decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns. “We’re in Stuttgart, Germany, Tahira. And it’s Thursday.”

  Tahira slumped against the expanded metal grating with a dropped jaw. It took two tries before she could get words out of her mouth, and even then they were a coarse whisper. “But…I was captured on Friday, and it was the first night of the moon. It can’t…the moon can’t last for a whole week, can it? I mean, strange things happen around Halloween, but not that strange.”

  Antoine sighed heavily and felt his shoulders slump. If she really had lost her brother, there would be no hope of finding a trail after this long. He hated to tell her, but better now than later. “It’s the second week of December, Tahira. I closed my show early so my troupe and I could return to America for a long holiday. Can you remember anything about your captivity? Anything at all?”

  “A month? But I couldn’t have been a prisoner for a full mon
th! What about Rabi?” She wiped sudden tears away with an angry hand. He could tell she was trying hard, but her chin quivered and her fists clenched as she fought to control her emotions. And there was no hiding her scent.

  Antoine’s voice was soft and gentle. “I’m so very sorry, Tahira. I hope your brother is still alive. When we get back to the show, you’re welcome to full use of my satellite phone or the Internet to make some calls.”

  The next curve brought the old tunnel into sight in the far distance. They were only a dozen miles from their camp. While Antoine had planned to stay near the auditorium where the show had been performed, the hotels were all sold out from a second convention, and they would have had to split the troupe. That was bad for morale of the cats, so they had obtained a special permit to set up the living trailers and an animal exercise tent in a field on the outskirts of the city.

  He tried to ignore Tahira’s wracking sobs in the back of the van. The reality of her situation had sunk home and there was little that could be done for the moment. By the time they arrived—

  A light caught his attention and he flicked his eyes to the driver’s side mirror. There was a police car on their tail and the blue lights were flashing. Well, perhaps it wasn’t for him. He slowed and moved toward the edge of the road to give it room to pass. But there wasn’t much room to move. The plows had been busy and the towering pile of ice-covered dirty snow could easily take off his side mirror. But the police car also slowed and moved to the side. Merde! What now?

  “Take off the shirt, Tahira!”

  He said it harshly enough to stem her tears and look up in shock. “What?”

  Antoine applied his foot to the brake—just enough to show compliance but still stall for time. “The police are behind us again. They will be expecting a tiger, and I happen to like the shirt you’re wearing.”

  She turned and looked out the tinted rear window. “Oh!” She hurried to obey, not even noticing that he would see her naked.

  But his eyes were only on the police. He pulled the car over and sent a powerful burst of magic into the back of the van. “I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt.”

  He had to watch to make sure that the timing was right. She grunted but didn’t scream as raw energy ripped across her body, literally pulling the tiger inside to the surface. Bones broke and fur flowed like a waterfall over sharp rocks. It was over in seconds, leaving her panting and shaking on the carpet before the van had even come to a complete halt. He kept feeding power into her until she roared in protest. He was surprised when a shock of fear scent flowed from the back. But there was no time to ease her fears.

  Antoine rolled down the window and forced a smile onto his face. It was difficult. The strain of keeping her in animal form seemed to be increasing. He could feel sweat paint his brow and start to roll down his temple.

  “Guten tag. Is there a problem, officer?”

  Tahira fought back a growl, and he noticed. It was the same man she’d growled at in the station—the one who had kicked her. The officer noticed the tiger’s complete attention. He unconsciously backed away from the window a half step. “You forgot to sign a document, Herr Monier. All of the documents must be signed.”

  Antoine bit back his first response. He couldn’t afford to give the officer any reason to detain him further. He couldn’t understand why it was so difficult to hold Tahira’s form. It hadn’t been like this earlier, but the more power he gave, the more she required. It was quickly draining him. His eyes were growing unfocused as he stared at the paper and the spot where the gloved finger pointed. He nearly dropped the pen from limp fingers while signing, and the German noticed.

  “Are you well, Herr Monier? You look very pale suddenly. Should I follow you to your camp?”

  Antoine’s mouth felt dry and hot, and he had to lick his tongue over chapped lips. He managed a small smile and nodded. “I’m merely tired. I was up late performing and had little sleep before I received the call from your Kommissar.” He pointed at the tunnel mouth. “But our camp is just on the other side of the mountain. So there’s no problem. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t believe I need an escort.”

  The officer wasn’t buying it. Tahira must have seen his indecision, because she suddenly threw herself against the side window and let out a vicious roar, making the entire van rock. The officer blanched and stepped back in alarm. It was enough of a distraction. His eyes moved quickly between the large tiger and Antoine’s pale face. “Very well, then, Herr Monier. I will leave you and your cat to make your way back.”

  Another roar and a powerful leap against the rear grate as the officer returned to his car made him drop the clipboard and scramble to pick it up. Antoine rolled up the window. “His reaction alone tells his guilt. That one is all muscle, with an intellect rivaled only by garden tools. His Kommissar wouldn’t have been so easily distracted.”

  A dark chuckle that ended with an animal snarl came from deep within his chest. Tahira regarded him with a sideways glance. “Don’t worry. I have few ideas to thank him for his treatment of you.” Antoine stepped on the gas and quickly increased the distance between the two cars. “And now I think it’s time for you to turn human again.”

  He threw a wave of power and waited for the change to occur.

  But it didn’t. Instead, the heat began to increase so quickly that his head began to pound. He started breathing painfully and noticed that Tahira was as well.

  “Why aren’t I changing?” Her speaking voice in animal form was nearly an octave deeper than when human. There was a delicious dark snarl at the end of each word.

  “I don’t know. Something is wrong. But just a few more miles—”

  By the time the tunnel loomed in front of them, Antoine was having a hard time keeping the car on the road. Just a few more minutes. But why can’t I stop my magic? Sweat was pouring freely down his face, stinging his eyes with salt. He heard Tahira collapse to the carpet and begin to pant heavily from exhaustion.

  He leaned forward on the steering wheel to keep himself upright. His magic, his very life force, was being sucked away, and he didn’t know why. Already spots of gray and white were edging his vision.

  The darkness ahead seemed to stretch out, the light at the end narrowing to a pinpoint that disappeared into an inky blackness the headlights couldn’t pierce. What in the name of—?

  Twin red slits appeared above him and a gasp choked his throat as the eyes blinked and became the red irises of a giant snake. They were driving right into its maw! Antoine turned the wheel frantically and slammed on the brake. He heard a distant scream and tearing metal, as though he was underwater.

  Bone-jarring pain now in his shoulder, his leg, the side of his head.

  More images passed in front of his eyes. He fought, as he always did, but the shimmering reflections entered him, filled him, and he couldn’t turn away: A veiled woman dressed in black and gold moved in a slow, sultry dance to music he couldn’t hear; men and women, chained to rocks screamed and shriveled into husks of paper-thin flesh that stretched thin over twisted animal bones; lips pressed against his that tasted of cherry jam and sandalwood. A hole appeared in a stone cliff covered with brush; water, and a need to breathe so strong it seared his lungs. Blinding pain in his chest seemed to flay the skin from his bones from the inside out; and through it all, the eyes—those fiery eyes that his heart knew would burn his world to ash if he didn’t intervene.

  The images rushed forward, enveloping him in sparkling power before everything disappeared into blackness.

  Chapter Two

  “ARE YOU CERTAIN that you wish to meet with these men, my lord? I can complete the transaction without your involvement.”

  The steady drip of water from the mineral stalactite against the cave floor punctuated the seconds while Nasil waited for a reply. The quiet murmur of chanting from the next chamber seemed to take on the beat of the droplets.

  A deep chuckle made Nasil shiver in the cool dampness. The measured voice when his
master replied held a note of amusement that didn’t bode well for the interaction. “No, Nasil. I believe that I would like to meet these men. I always prefer to personally deal with those who fail me.”

  The words became a whip and Nasil flinched as though struck. He dropped to his knees on the smooth stone and bowed low at the feet of his seated master. “Their failure is mine, my lord. I did not think it necessary to be specific as to the tiger we sought. I didn’t realize that there was another tig—”

  Nasil heard movement but held his place. He was born to serve this man—trained to take whatever punishment was determined. He would honor his calling regardless of his fate. His heart quickened when the rustle of cloth stopped next to his head, but he didn’t move.

  The voice was pleased, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. “The scent of your fear, and your quiet acceptance of my judgment move me, Nasil. You have served me well for many centuries. This small defeat will not reverse your lifetime of service in my eyes. You did exactly as I instructed, so the fault is mine—”

  A clatter of rocks in the distant tunnel stopped them both. The baritone lowered to a whisper. “Stand at my side once more, Nasil. We will greet these…poachers as one, as we always have.”

  “As you command, my lord Sargon.” He rose to his feet after the other man had seated himself. Nasil stepped behind the rock where Sargon reclined on a cushion.

  The ammonia scent of panic was almost visible as the chanting grew louder beyond the curve of the cave but wasn’t enough to cover the rattling of the chains as the subject struggled to free herself. The press of magic seemed to fill the room in a wave and then flow back out in a rush with the power of a tsunami. Nasil struggled to keep his feet as the tide rushed past him, pulling his own magic through his very pores. His skin began to ache then burn as more power was drained. Even Sargon was affected by the magic drain, but Nasil noted that a slow smile was curling his master’s lip.